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"D'ye think ye are the first man that has telled me that, cuif?" said Meg, with point and emphasis. Jock Forrest, the senior ploughman a very quiet, sedate man with a seldom stirred but pretty wit, laughed a short laugh, as though he knew something about that.
Jock Forrest still went out, saying nothing, whenever the Cuif came in, which the Cuif took to be a good sign. Only Ebie Fairrish, struck to the heart by the inconstancy of Jess, removed at the November term back again to the "laigh end" of the parish, and there plunged madly into flirtations with several of his old sweethearts.
It was for this reason that she put the scarlet poppy into her hair. She meditated "I maybe haena Meg's looks to the notion o' some folk, but I mak' a heap better use o' the looks that I hae, an' that is a great maitter!" "Saunders," said Jess softly, going up to the Cuif and pretending to pick a bit of heather off his courting coat.
"I'm come after my saxpence, mem," said I. "It's to be thought, being my uncle's nephew, I would be found a careful lad." "So ye have a spark of sleeness in ye?" observed the old lady, with some approval. "I thought ye had just been a cuif you and your saxpence, and your LUCKY DAY and your SAKE OF BALWHIDDER" from which I was gratified to learn that Catriona had not forgotten some of our talk.
The minister, in acknowledging the epistle of his old friend, commences his reply as follows: "Did e'er a cuif tak' up a quill, Wha ne'er did aught that he did well, To gar the muses rant and reel, An' flaunt and swagger, Nae doubt ye 'll say 't is that daft chiel Old Dite McGregore!"
The cuif, who had been uneasily balancing himself first on one foot and then on the other, and apologetically passing his hand over the sleek side of his head which was not covered by the bonnet, replied gratefully: "'Deed I wull that, Meg, since ye are sae pressin'."
Meg's clours are to be borne wi' a' complaisancy, but Birsie's dunts are, so to speak, gratuitous!" "Here's the Cuif!" said Meg Kissock, who with her company gown on, and her face glowing from a brisk wash, sat knitting a stocking in the rich gloaming light at the gable end of the house of Craig Ronald.
She's mair nor half blind onyway, an' she's fair girnin' fain for a man, she micht even tak' you." With these cruel words Meg lifted her milking-stool and vanished within. The cuif sat for a long time on his byne lost in thought.
"Hoo muckle hae ye i' the week?" said Meg, practically, to bring the matter to a point. "A pound a week," said Saunders Mowdiewort, promptly, who though a cuif was a business man, "an' a cottage o' three rooms wi' a graun' view baith back an' front!" "Ow aye," said Meg, sardonically, "I ken yer graund view.
"Wi' Jess! Is't yerself?" said Saunders. Jess was discreetly silent. "Ye'll no tell onybody, wull ye, Maister Mowdiewort?" she said anxiously. To Saunders this was a great deal better than being called a "Cuif." "Na, Jess, lass, I'll no tell a soul no yin." "No' even Meg-mind!" repeated Jess, who felt that this was a vital point.
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